I remember when you couldn’t lift your head. . . when those blue eyes would dance but the rest of you remained limp. Time seemed to stand still as we began to desperately climb after those developmental milestones. . . we filled that time with joint compression six times a day, infant massage three times a day, lots of exercises, and long, hard fought meals and snacks to feed your brain and to make people say “I thought he was supposed to be failure to thrive?” with puzzled looks on their faces. . . . we painted our lips with bright red lipstick an drove six hours twice a month for specialized speech therapy. . . we prayed . . . we begged others to pray. . .
it felt like you would never crawl or walk or jump or climb. It felt like we might never hear your stories or your thoughts. . .
And today you jumped out of bed, got dressed, and spiked up that white blond hair – – you put your backpack on, ran out to the bus and said, “Good Morning, Coach Henry – – I’m a kindergartner now!” . . . . . .
And twenty feet behind you stood a woman. . .
whose pride and love for you cannot be measured. . .
whose every breath and hope is for God’s greatness to be revealed in your life. . .
and she thought to herself. . .
where has the time gone?
And she reminded herself. . .
You knew this day was coming
And she said to her God and her son. . . .
But I also knew you have been coming for this day. . .
J – – -You are my hero, my heart’s passion , and the delight of my soul. . .
Go Get ‘Em!
“. . . because they saw that he was an extraordinary child, and they were not afraid. . . ” Hebrews 11:23